


Feeling A Little Down

by Paper_Pluviophile



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Comfort/Angst, Hoodieville, Inspired by an amazing person, Mentions of Genocide Run, Other, Precious skellies, Sad Sans, Sans goes to sweaterville, Sans is having a bad time, Thank you so very much~, Worried Papyrus, excuse me, fluffy bunny - Freeform, skelebros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:28:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Pluviophile/pseuds/Paper_Pluviophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans does not cave under the knowledge, the burden of knowing that everything could be torn away from them like a stuffed doll from a child. Sure, he's been practically nicknamed lazybones and his breaks are many with few work-related progress in between; but he manages to scrounge up enough cash to pay for rent and attends to his post every so often just to appease his brother. He doesn't quite give in, and he's DETERMINED to never do so, as long as Papyrus is here. Resets are actually a relief, strangled and corrupted they may be, once he's gone. Even if he'll just be cut down again eventually.</p>
<p>Of course, regardless of his not-quite-steel resolve Sans has his bad days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling A Little Down

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired/Suggested by this great, wonderful, super duper cool and awesome person~ http://archiveofourown.org/users/izthehero/pseuds/Taisi  
> Go check out their stuff, it's spectacular and you should read it and support them <3

Time doesn't matter anymore. It's not  _when_  willPapyrus return from his station, from facing every challenge head on with only his boundless optimism- but if. If he'll perish in this timeline or the next, if Sans will have to cradle the last remaints of his brother in his arms, dust caking his weary bones and staining the threadbare fabric of Papyrus's scarf. He's lost count of how many times Papyrus had died. And it _hurts. It hurts so very, very much._  For Papyrus's sake, however, Sans does not cave under the knowledge, the burden of knowing that everything could be torn away from them like a stuffed doll from a child. Sure, he's been practically nicknamed lazybones and his breaks are many with few work-related progress in between; but he manages to scrounge up enough cash to pay for rent and attends to his post every so often just to appease his brother. He doesn't quite give in, and he's DETERMINED to never do so, as long as Papyrus is here. Resets are actually a relief, strangled and corrupted they may be, once he's gone. Even if he'll just be cut down again eventually.

 

Of course, regardless of his not-quite-steel resolve Sans has his bad days.

 

Today happens to be one of those, much to his misfortune. According to his calculations the last reset had been a bit of a major one. They still have several weeks, maybe even a month before an angel falls from above, to either wreak havoc or instill hope in monsterkind nobody knows. Even Sans' equipment can't exactly nail it down, and can only measure and predict. It's practically useless. However an overwhelming bought of utter hopeless had ever so kindly decided to rain on the skeleton's parade, kept at bay until a certain monster marched out on a crucial mission, of which no information was divulged in. Only highly particular and significant events were repetitive, so whatever Papyrus was set out on would be refreshing. It also allots time for Sans to mope about and for his damned smile to drop it's plastic facade. His miserable exhaustion is visible externally, from the lack of motivation shackled onto his movements and his disheartened outlook as well as his current position. At the moment the skeleton is curled up on the couch with his arms around himself and jacket zipped up to his collarbone, sunk back into the worn cushion of the furniture while the distant static of the television mimics his state of mind. Sans has been like this for- over an hour? Maybe five hours. Maybe five minutes.

 

His mind is too wired to welcome the luxury of sleep, and so instead he suffers, alone. This on-struck loneliness lasts but mere seconds before Papyrus grandly bursts through the door, gusts of perpetual winter whipping his scarf back and forth near nobly. "I have returned from my quest, brother!" With his dramatic entry and booming pride you'd have thought he had just conquered the lands of some tyrant dictator- instead Papyrus is attempting to hide a bulky bag behind him and failing, boxes of spaghetti noticeably poking out past a more obscure mound. He'd gone shopping. *cool bro." Not offering further commentary nor one of his notorious puns Sans hides the ragged disfigurement of a grin in the fluff of his jacket, smiling as always. Maybe 'Smiley Trash-bag' is a more fitting term for him than he originally thought. Maybe he just should have pretended to be asleep instead. "Indeed! Now, I am going to kitchen in a way that is very much _not_  suspicious, and I certainly am  _not_ smuggling a bag that is very much  _not_  suspicious, into the kitchen." The best Sans can offer was a dry chuckle. His lack of puns is concerning to Papyrus, but he checks it off as his brother simply being tired. He was such a lazybones, really. Not that it made Papyrus love him any less. 

 

For the better part of an hour the chipper skeleton babbles on about the days events which Sans had missed out, Papyrus scolding him on that and then encouraging him to get out of the house more often, all while busying himself with cooking. It was going to be extra special and extra great, the Great Papyrus proclaimed exuberantly! His confidence and infinite energy never ceases to amaze Sans. It's one of the reasons his brother is such a cool guy. "Sans! My stupendous and spectacular spaghetti is ready to be served and savored most deliciously! I have added a very...unique ingredient to yours in particular. I am positive you will enjoy it!" The couch sinks beneath his weight once he seats himself beside Sans, two plates of spaghetti, steam swirling above the mushy, overcooked noodles and one much more red than the other, in hand. *thanks, pap. could you  _pasta_ plate?" Fishing out one of his horrendous puns Sans presents a casual grin when he sits up, his damp mood improving little by little, hopefully. All thanks to Papyrus, he knew. 

 

"SANS THAT WAS HORRIBLE!" Groaning in privately relieved exasperation Papyrus hands over the pasty dish (mixed into an unholy union of pasta and ketchup), unsettled by the earlier continuation of listless apathy from Sans. It wasn't like him, to not take advantage of any possible word plays or to be more active in their conversations. The most he'd said had been a few agreements and a couple of nods- he hadn't even fallen asleep, which was alarming since he was settled down on one of his favourite, out of many, napping spots. In fact, the more he thought about it the more he considered how worrisome Sans' behavior had been for the past week. Although laziness is nothing abnormal he wasn't quite sure if Sans had moved at all from his current position, aside from when he checked in on Papyrus at night when he assumed the other was well off in his dreams; the townsfolk hadn't seen him lazing about either, not even on his routine 'breaks' to Grillby's. The few, few jokes he attempted at where rather self-deprecating or even grim- such as the one he pokes at while twirling a forkful of spaghetti, which he had been doing for over a minute. *hey, bro, do you know why life's like a broken pencil? cuz' it's pointless." The despondent monster cant' even muster a chuckle to back it up. Instead he mumbles an apology, admitting that it wasn't a very cool joke, and doesn't speak further.

 

"Sans I believe we need to have a discussion." Yeah, he definitely should have pretended to be asleep. At least he could have stalled for a bit longer. *'bout what?"

 

"You, brother." Papyrus' boisterous tone sounds so strange when it's not brimming with flamboyance and teeters with concern. Sans sets aside his plate to again securely curl up against the armrest, not daring to look up. He doesn't want to have to smile at the worry he'd ended up dumping on Papyrus. *aw, c'mon pap. you know i'm fine. i just gotta  _ketchup_ on some sleep, is all. i'm  _bone tired."_ His aloof puns don't work this time, and though he's aware of this he still laughs - a hallow echo. "Sans, I'm very concerned about you. You've been cooped up here for a while now, and I'm not even sure that you've moved an inch from this couch. Aside from when you peek into my room at night." Ah. So he knew about that. Pap had never been a heavy sleeper- he declared often that his guard was kept well up even while slumbering. "Everyone is inquiring as to why you haven't been out either. Grillby himself has called many times. And your jokes, though still dreadful per usual, are more...worrying. As your very great, esteemed, and caring brother I am asking you to tell me if something is wrong. What is it that has upset you, Sans? Please, I would like to help. I KNOW I can help, if you'll talk to me." 

 

Impossible. Even someone as amazing as Pap can't ease the taxing weight Sans shoulders daily, through yesterday and weeks before and tangled timelines. "Brother, please." Unbridled shame smothers him at such a bogus thought. Of course Papyrus would understand, of course he would be able to help him. Sans doesn't deserve him though. He doesn't deserve his compassion and awe-inspiring motivation and everything about him that makes him amazing (which is everything). Sans really doesn't deserve Papyrus at all. 

 

So the tenebrific skeleton does the only thing he can think of in this instance; he retreats into the gloomy seclusion of his hoodie. Fluff woven hood yanked over his skull and stout arms abandoning their sleeves Sans ditches the conversation. This is the first time he's ever done something like this, Papyrus taking a moment to appraise their current situation. "...I assume you do not wish to discuss your troubles with me?" Sheltered from view Sans sways his body side to side slowly. No. "Alright then. Well, I suppose there is only one thing left to do." Puzzlement briefly acquainted with Sans at that, and suddenly he's swooped up into the air before being clasped into the most familiar security he's ever known; being held in his dear brother's arms. Damn. He really,  _really_ doesn't deserve Papyrus. It doesn't take long for said skeleton to stride upstairs and into his room, sitting the smaller of the two onto his neatly made race car bed. There's a moment of rummaging quiet. Sans hardly moves, only shifting until his spine pushes up against the wall. It steadies him in a way.

 

"Fluffy Bunny was very, very fluffy." He can't help it- he laughs. Beneath the padded fabric of his jacket it's muffled and barely inaudible in the first place, but it's something positive. Something Papyrus had caused. *isn't it supposed to my job to read you bedtime stories, bro?" Dog-tired he is Sans finds it  _humerus_ and so perfect. It was something that Papyrus would do, no doubt, to cheer him up and comfort him, regardless of his stronghold of fears and crumpled secrets that he refused to confess. And Papyrus has a way of always rekindling genuine reactions from him. "Normally yes, but this situation calls for drastic changes. I shall be the story teller for tonight, and any other night if need be, brother! A-hem, now. As I was saying. Fluffy Bunny was very, very fluffy..."

 

Page by page Sans is coaxed out, awashed with comfort at the theatrical reading and placid ambiance. His brother really is the coolest.


End file.
